Angel of War
by Sleeping-force's-inside
Summary: Judgement was passed. He is of the Horseman War now... but is that truly such a punishment to the Archangel Azrael? Eleventh Chapter Online. R & E & R Warning: Mpreg later on!
1. Chapter 1

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

**Rating:** **M**

**Couples:** **Azrael/War**

**Warnings:** **AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg**

**Chapter:**** 1**

**Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me**

**Author's note: ****This is a collab with Food-for-Mind, so this time I am not alone in being to blame for anything bad that happens: SHE DID IT!**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"You are to be banished for three centuries, during which you will only set foot in the White City or any places under Heaven's control if and when you have been summoned." Raphael stated evenly, his hands folded in front of him. "During these years, you are under control of the Horseman War unless summoned by Heaven."

Azrael's eyes widened, not out of shock at the harshness of the sentence, but rather at the leniency of it all. This was his punishment for aiding Abaddon in destroying the Third Kingdom and starting the Endwar early!? Granted, the exact depth of his sin had escaped Heaven, most angels assuming that he had been tricked into it, not knowing what the General had intended, but still…

The Assembly departed, leaving the Archangel on his spot on the center floor. He looked up when Raphael flew down to him, pointedly ignoring a couple of angels that seemed to hesitate to approach him.

Raphael did briefly watch them, wondering at them simply leaving after those few moments of hesitation.

"Was that for real?" Azrael demanded as his fellow angel touched down upon the ground in front of him. "Raphael, my stupidity ended the Third Kingdom. I ought to be cast into Hell, not the Horseman's keeping!"

"No one is perfect, Azrael." The other angel was dressed in armor. He was formidable, perhaps not to the level of Abaddon – who had been the finest warrior Heaven ever produced – but he had been one of the few who could give the former General some real trouble in a fight and could even best him. "Besides, this arrived earlier today… by crow."

"Crow…?" Azrael echoed, taking the small roll. Opening it, he saw only a few sentences. Immediately his eyes flitted to the name at the bottom. "Wait, _War_ sent this?"

"Yes." His opposite nodded. "I daresay Heaven can reap the benefits of this deal."

Only now Azrael looked at the actual message. For the first time in a good while, he was speechless. "Non-attacking of Heaven in exchange for leniency on me? Why?"

"It does not tell." The other angel shrugged lightly. "But War is honorable, all things taken into account. We were unanimous that we should take this offer."

"Why would he…?" Azrael could not comprehend why the Horseman would protect him so, despite his statement of him killing all that schemed with Abaddon. Had he decided the Archangel had redeemed himself after all the aid he had rendered? It seemed that the Horsemen had taken the place of the destroyed Charred Council…

"You will leave after a short stop to take what you need from your home." Raphael ignored the other's confusion. "The crow carried another note telling us to send you to… 'the Return from Truth', wherever that may be. I assume you know?"

It took the scribe a few moments until he realized what was meant: the place in the Ashlands where he had taken War after Eden. "Yes, yes, I know where that is."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Hesitantly he appeared above the appointed place, looking around. It seemed they were not expecting him this quickly. Slowly he descended towards the ground, still all senses in high-alert.

"You can come down fully now!" A voice sharply called up. Recognizing it as War's, Azrael obediently touched down on the ground, wondering where the Rider was.

He cried out in surprise when a powerful punch hit him between his wings, sending him down onto the ground. Entirely quicker than he would have expected the Horseman to move, a heavy weight was on top of him, sword against his neck. He regretted having exchanged his formal robes for a more sedate outfit, no golden arch of his rank protecting his neck now…

"What did they sentence you to?" War's non-golem hand pushed down between Azrael's shoulders, not hard enough to hurt or even cause discomfort, but certainly enough that the angel knew better than to try to move anything. The massive sword tingled with its' otherworldly energies against his neck, causing his hair to stand upright.

"I… I am banished from Heaven and its' outposts - unless summoned - for three centuries." Azrael wondered if he could risk shifting, one of his wings caught rather painfully between him and the knee of the male on top of him. On the other hand, the pain did keep him nicely occupied. "I am under your watch for that time."

The Red Rider rose then, offering a hand to the angel he had bowled over. Azrael rolled his wing when he stood again, rather awkwardly trying not to look the armored male in the face.

It worked about half a minute, at which point the massive golem-arm shot out and latched onto the scholar's slender neck. His eyes widened, suddenly a horrible thought coming to him: what if War had demanded leniency from the White City so he could be the one to kill Azrael? It would be out of character certainly, but so had been many things this last century and the Horseman would not be the first to surprise people.

"And you better behave well enough that I do not tell the truth to the other angels." War snarled, lifting the white-eyed male clean of his feet. "Your deeds gave you a second chance. Do. Not. Waste. It. Am I clear?"

He certainly had no intention of doing that. Azrael nodded as much as he could with the metal hand under his chin, sighing in relief when he was dropped once more, though he stumbled rather badly at the short drop combined with the awkward balance of his massive wings.

"Come then." War turned on his heels, marching over to where the bridge was – if one wore a Mask of Shadows or knew another way to pierce that veil. Obediently, the mystic followed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

**Rating:** **M**

**Couples:** **Azrael/War**

**Warnings:** **AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg**

**Chapter:**** 2**

**Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"If I may..." Azrael asked when War jumped down to the ground, summoning Ruin. "Do... do the Horsemen know?"

"Of course." The Red Rider almost absent-mindedly stated, turning to Azrael. "Did you expect I'd not tell them?"

"I... have grown unsure as to what to expect these days." The Archangel admitted, barely keeping from crying out in surprise when the Horseman grabbed his leg and dragged him down. He winced in pain at the saddle-knob digging into his back, folding his wings tightly. "War? What...?"

"Our home is supposed to be hidden, not open for all." The Horseman easily pierced the veil between worlds, disappearing from the Ashlands. Ruin seemed to have no problem with the imbalance of weight on his back.

Azrael blinked, a small blush appearing on his face at being this close to the youngest Nephilim. The massive golem-arm held him steady and instinctively he reached for the other's neck to hold onto.

They appeared in a world of stone and rock, high ravine-walls rising around them. Untangling himself, Azrael took to the sky again.

For a while they travelled onward in silence, Azrael just a few wing-beats behind the flaming horse.

"I was not aware the Horsemen had taken to living together." He finally whispered, the silence growing oppressive.

"It's rather recent." War briefly glanced at him. "A month ago, in fact."

A month ago Uriel had broken the Seventh Seal, freeing the Horsemen from the grip of the Charred Council. Which had promptly resulted in the destruction of said Council because of its' perceived treachery.

"Ah..." Azrael folded his hands in his sleeves, trepidation growing when they passed a bend and came face to face with a massive structure. There was no way they could have built it this quickly! "How did you...?"

"It was already here, a remnant of the original people of this planet." War calmly led the way. "The Makers helped us restore it to its' old glory."

"Are we... on Earth?" Azrael whispered, hesitating briefly before he followed the rider over the open plain. The Horseman did not answer.

The Archangel froze when the wall melted open, revealing three forms he had not seen for a very long time: the other three Horsemen. For the first time in a good while, he felt fear.

"Are you coming?" War demanded, half-turned to look at the angel. "You do not want to be outside at night here, let me tell you."

Trying to keep his emotions in check, the Gatekeeper followed obediently. He flinched at the furious looks the others gave him. Touching down on the ground, he tried to hold Death's gaze, only to fail miserably.

Looking at the ground, he missed the movement of Fury, only alerted to what happened by the crackle of thunder. Electricity arched through his body, making the mystic cry out in pain. He fell to his knees when something hit the back of his legs, dual scythes appearing against his neck even before he could register that Death was now behind him. Wide eyes fixed upon the barrels of both Mercy and Redemption, Strife's face unreadable underneath his helmet.

Though he could potentially have freed himself – though probably not for long if they truly desired his death – Azrael seemed to almost relax in his confinement, eyes sliding close as he waited for the Horsemen to do what they wished.

"Are you that eager to get your brains plastered all over the place?" Strife demanded, the single barrel of Redemption pressing against the angel's forehead. "I feel inclined to oblige."

No one said anything for a while after that, but in the end the cool metal of the gun disappeared at the same time Fury pulled her whip free. With a rather hard shove by Death, Azrael fell to the ground, scraping his cheek on the cruel rock of the Horsemen's abode. His gasp was muffled by the eldest Horseman planting his foot on the angel's neck.

"Remember well that you live by our grace, Azrael." The Firstborn stated, briefly shoving down with his foot before leaving the scholar on the ground to walk back into the fortress. The other two followed him, not looking back once.

"It's getting dark." War finally took the angel's arm, dragging him up. "Come."

"What is out here that is so dangerous?" Azrael demanded, allowing the other to pull him inside while using his free hand to soothe his stinging cheek.

"Creatures of Old." Was the only answer as War led him up several flights of stairs. "Well, if you are my charge now, we'll need to establish some rules."

Azrael's pride demanded he retaliate about that. He was not some unruly child that needed to be told what to do! But in the end he swallowed it, unwilling to risk angering his jailor this quickly. "Yes?"

"Firstly, do not leave the building after sundown." War let go of his arm, opening a door leading into another corridor. "Secondly, you might be my charge, but you will obey my siblings just as much. Thirdly, you will not open any pathways between realms, of any kind and for any reason that does not involve 'only way to stay alive'. Fourthly, you will not use any great magics, again the only exception being when it is a matter of survival."

"I understand." The scholar followed him on foot, wings too massive to fly in this narrow corridor. Inside his robes, his hands were fists, nails driving themselves into his flesh. He managed to keep his voice even. "Anything else?"

"Aside from that you are free to do as you desire, save leave this valley." War stopped at a door up another flight of stairs. "This is one of the extra bedrooms. You can use it." He moved past the mystic, descending down the stairs again.

Azrael sighed, pushing open the door. It was sparse, as one would expect of people who were mostly away from home. A substantial closet, a bed – which was surprisingly luxurious though – and a desk with chair were the only pieces of furniture inside. A glass door opened to a balcony that seemed to circle the entire tower from what he saw through some of the other windows and looked out over a gigantic inner courtyard. Azrael did not open the thick glass, but peered outside regardless. It seemed the building had a rough triangular shape, with his tower at one of the corners.

Idly, he opened the closet even as he pulled a small box from inside one of his sleeves. Absentmindedly he threw the box onto the bed, cancelling the enchantment that kept it miniaturized. It grew rather massive, easily as wide as his arms.

Sighing softly, briefly closing his eyes he then opened it and started to hang the clothes inside into the closet. Halfway through, he leaned forward and rested his hand on one of the planks as he shuddered when it hit him exactly how his punishment would be. Wisest of the angels he might be, but Azrael was not sure how he'd survive 300 years of this hate and animosity.


	3. Chapter 3

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

**Rating:** **M**

**Couples:** **Azrael/War**

**Warnings:** **AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg**

**Chapter:**** 3**

**Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me**

**Author's Note:**** Poll on my Profile, plz vote ;)**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The next few days Azrael spent mostly evading the Horsemen and looking through the substantial fortress they had claimed. Despite its' size and clear refurbishing, the massive structure was mostly empty. Only the wing at the front was really being used, the other two spokes of the triangle being mostly abandoned.

For the most time, he was alone, the Horsemen securing their new home.

Well, unless one counted Death's small army worth of ghouls... The Archangel had nearly blasted part of a hallway when first stumbling on one of the Horsemen's 'servants'.

Thinking that at least it could not be worse than that – they seemed to have a moderate concept of hygiene at least – the angel had been sorely mistaken.

All four gathered around dinner-time from their respective rounds and insisted he'd join them. Though the time spent together at the table served to have them open up a bit to him, the angel at first wondered if they were playing some joke on him.

Meat... That was literally all they seemed to eat. Not even herbs or anything.

It made sense: the Nephilim had always been busy conquering and destroying which probably did not make for many chances to gain culinary skills, but still! Had the Horsemen never felt the need to eat anything else?

Despite soon craving anything aside from meat, he dared not complain and so ate what he was served. At least after the first day they no longer gave him the same amounts they themselves ate. He was quite certain the meat the last four Nephilim ate in one sitting would have lasted an angelic family for a week.

"Strife, tomorrow it's your turn." Death said on the fifth day the mystic was with them. "I have been cooking since we got here."

Fury and War flinched at that and even Strife himself looked like he was about to complain.

"Brace yourself." War whispered at Azrael's confused expression when Death sent a rather potent glare towards the Gunner. "Once the dinner he was making crawled away..."

Azrael's eyes widened at that and he fixed his gaze to his plate. He paid little attention to what they said, swallowing a couple times at the prospect of even more Nephilim-food... Worse, Nephilim-food even the Nephilim themselves would not want to eat.

"I can cook." The scholar hesitantly spoke up. "I have nothing to do anyway..."

"I didn't know you could cook." Death spoke up after a surprised silence.

"I protect the Well from outside interference." Azrael dryly countered. "That includes the presence of any other life-form, even angels. I have to cook myself whenever I am not in the White City or one of the Outposts. So yes, I can cook. I'd just... need to conjure some things." He looked around the 'kitchen', which was no more than a fire-pit and a table.

"What would you need to conjure?" War demanded, looking at the angel beside him.

"Odd and ends... some extra food-things..." Azrael looked away, looking at the fire-pit. "Angelic recipes call for some more things than only 'meat'. I'd need other things to make them properly."

"You ought to have warned us angels have a different diet from Nephilim." Death accused him, voice even. "Very well, you will cook tomorrow then. Will you require assistance?"

"Perhaps..." The angel looked away. "Some of the things taste better when collected, rather than created from air... but..."

The area around their fortress was desolate, only a bit of moss growing on some of the rocks. No plant-life, no animals save massive creatures that roamed the skies at night and that even the Horsemen seemed loath to challenge if it could be helped. From what he had gathered when Death had requested his assistance in making a map of their rides into the surrounding lands, that was all there was.

"I'm supposed to leave at midday tomorrow, I can take you somewhere before that." War offered, realizing what his charge meant: he'd need to leave, but had been forbidden from doing just that. "You'll have to get up early though."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

By the time Azrael arrived in the entrance hall the next morning, War was already waiting for him.

Petting Ruin on his neck, War saw Azrael heading towards him. Looking briefly surprised that the Archangel had chosen to wear pants, he enquired. "What exactly are the items you need?"

"Mostly plantlike things..." Azrael tilted his head in thought, shifting the bag he had slung around him. "The realm of the Makers would be best. Near a river and forest, if possible."

War mounted Ruin and then leaned forward to help Azrael up. "Come here." He was somewhat amused that the angel decided to hold onto his middle when the slender male was seated behind him. He could feel the hesitation of the other at the move.

Arriving at the Maker's realm, Azrael breathed an unnoticeable sigh of relief when he could take to the skies. "This is a good spot, thank you."

Telling Ruin to wait where they arrived so he'd not torch the place down, War followed the angel, watching as the scholar flew out over the river and with a brief glow of his hands lifted several fish from the clear waters and well onto the rocky shore. Actually touching down, the mystic then started looking through the grasses at the edge.

"Why do you even eat plants?" War asked, shuddering lightly at the thought. "We only eat them in emergencies because they taste horrible." He frowned a bit at the trace of amusement appearing on the angel's face.

"Then you never ate them properly." Azrael's voice actually sounded like he was joking. The thought that one of the feared Horsemen hated green food amused the scholar.

A wide smile appeared on his face when he saw a particular plant. Reaching over, he pulled it from the ground and raised an eyebrow at the face War made when recognizing it.

"Do we have to eat those?" The Red Rider demanded, disgust clear on his face. The thing the Archangel held in his hand was one of those 'emergency-plants' the Nephilim had had and it certainly had been the worst of them too.

"You'll see this evening." Azrael couldn't quite stop the snort of amusement at War's reaction to _potatoes_ of all Heaven-given plants. Laying the cluster down beside the fish, he turned his attention to their surroundings again.

After half an hour, he had found all he needed. He'd have to create the rest from scratch, since he doubted War would allow him to go to another realm for those things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

**Rating:** **M**

**Couples:** **Azrael/War**

**Warnings:** **AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg**

**Chapter:**** 3**

**Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me**

**Author's Note:**** Poll on my Profile, plz vote ;) Should I be worried about the desire of people to see more Angel-horror?**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When they arrived at the Fortress War secretly admitted to himself that he felt almost disappointed when the angel let go of him. Seeing his siblings coming towards them on their own respective steeds, he yelled a warning. "Azrael found _the roots!_"

Death's face was unmoved, but Strife muttered darkly that perhaps people shouldn't complain about him.

"Why the Hell did you not stop him, War!?" The Gunner demanded, Fury nodding in agreement as Azrael just disappeared into the building.

"I tried! But according to him, we never ate it properly." War defended himself. He felt insulted that his siblings immediately ganged up on him.

"Leave War be, we'll see what the angel will create for us." Death stopped the others from retaliating, gesturing they should go about their assignments.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Many hours later, Death was the first to arrive back at the fortress. Nearing the kitchen-area, he noticed a very nice smell. But the moment he stepped into the room, the smell was all but forgotten. He blinked a couple times, wondering if perhaps he had taken a wrong turn somehow and ended up in a different fortress.

"Hello Death." Azrael was sitting on the table, one eye on a massive clay-structure to the side. "Want some tea?" He offered an empty cup to the Horseman and gestured with it to the kettle he had standing beside the fire-pit. "Hot though." He seemed more relaxed than the Horseman had seen him for days.

"What did you do?" Death demanded, looking at the changes in the room. There seemed to be cabinets on the far wall, then there was that weird clay-structure and what seemed to be a water-pump with bowl underneath near the table. He took the empty cup absentmindedly, not really noticing the angel filling it with hot liquid.

"These are some of the things I need for cooking." Azrael answered him. He sipped at his tea, briefly rising up to look into the clay-structure and poking into the lower hole. "I also took the liberty of arranging for a garden." He gestured to the window on his way back to the table.

Death looked out the window, staring at several of his ghouls and skeletons digging and racking. Perhaps he should not have told them to obey _all_ residents of the fortress... "What..." He sat down in disbelief, wondering if they made a mistake in housing the angel. Unfocused he took off his mask and took a small sip from the cup, not sure what he was supposed to do.

"I figured I might as well save you all the trouble of having to escort me to a different realm whenever I cook." Azrael stated to snap the elder Nephilim out of his shock. He smiled gently, probably realizing exactly what went through Death's brain at that moment. "When will the others be back by the way? I think the food is nearly done." He gestured to the clay-structure, from where the smells were originating.

Death blinked a couple times while still looking from the garden to the kitchen. "Within half an hour, if they encounter no problems."

War arrived back home next, tired and hungry: he had encountered some creatures who didn't take kindly to him invading their territory. The moment he stepped into the fortress, he smelled something wonderful. Following the smell he went into the kitchen and much like his elder brother before him, he froze in surprise at seeing the changes in it.

"Food is nearly done." Azrael told him, getting another cup and offered it to him after filling it. "Unless you are starving, then I have some other things you can eat in the meantime."

"War is always starving. I guess there's a reason why he is now so tall." Death answered for War, calmly sipping his tea. Seeing his brother shoot him an annoyed look, Death airily told him. "You should try the tea, it's good."

War grumbled something under his breath and with a suspicious look at it he sipped on the hot beverage.

At that moment Azrael heard talking outside the kitchen. "Seems everyone is here." He procured two more cups, filling them as well before walking over to the structure. "Food's finished as well." He stated just as Fury and Strife entered.

Azrael pulled some truly gigantic plates from one of the cupboard and walked over to the clay-structure. "Strife, help me with this, will you?"

Rolling his eyes, Strife still joined the angel more or less obediently, looking a bit surprised at getting one of the plates dumped in his hands with what seemed to be a gigantic steaming fish with a weird crust on top.

War blinked at his food and hesitatingly he took a bite from the angel's creation. The moment the flavour hit his taste-buds, War stared in shock at the plate: never before he had tasted so much at once. He began to eat with gusto.

His siblings joined in soon after, much to the angel's amusement.

"Heh..." Strife snorted after a good while of only munching sounds filling the room. "I'd say that angels can at least cook."

War snorted at Strife's remark. "Nearly every living creature is a better cook than you. Even the Hellhounds won't touch your... creations." The youngest Rider stared a bit mournful at his empty plate. Turning to the angel he added. "Well, you did prove me wrong in regards to green-food. I'm lucky I didn't bet on it."

"I have to agree. Azrael, could you show me the herbs you used?" Death asked when he finished cleaning off his plate. No way he'd ever make just roasted meat after this.

"They're growing in the garden." The Archangel informed him, also finished with his food. "Though I hope you are not too full after this, I have some dessert too. Way too much time while waiting for the fish to finish."

All of them perked up in interest what, which almost made Azrael giggle at the eager faces of the four most feared creatures in all of Creation. He got up and walked over to a wooden panel on the ground that had not been there before, though Death had not at first noticed it when looking through their kitchen. Opening it, the foggy breath of ice rose up. "Children love this." The angel grinned, pulling up several bowls with what seemed to be solidified snow in various colours.

"Then you should give it to War, since he is the child here." Death stoically stated, earning himself another glare from his younger brother.

This time Fury did not hesitate as much, immediately trying a spoonful of the stuff. "COLD!" She shuddered.

"Brain-freeze?" Strife asked his sister sweetly.

Heeding Fury's misfortune, War took a careful scoop from the bowl. It was sweet and... delicious! The Red Rider did resist the urge to scarf it all down: he didn't want that painful cold sensation and he most assuredly didn't wanted to give Death any reason to call him a child again. Slowly he continued to empty the bowl.

"You know, War..." Fury spoke up after finishing her bowl at a more sedate pace. "I think you need to add a new rule for Azrael's stay here: cook every day."

The mystic blinked in surprise at that. Then again, he probably should have seen it coming.

War thought over his sister's proposal: Azrael was proving to be a great cook, he was creating a garden specifically for cooking – War saw the garden outside the window and recognized some of the plants the angel had gathered earlier that day. "It would not be a bad idea."

Azrael blinked a few times. "Well... I suppose I have nothing better to do anyway..." He muttered lightly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

**Rating:** **M**

**Couples:** **Azrael/War**

**Warnings:** **AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg**

**Chapter:**** 5**

**Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me and Food-for-mind**

**Author's Note:**** Poll on my Profile, plz vote ;) Should I be worried about the desire of people to see more Angel-horror?**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

War and Azrael headed for the room in which they kept the maps as Fury and Strife were forced to do the dishes under Death's watchful gaze.

"You don't mind having to cook, right?" War softly enquired as the angel pulled a piece of paper from the mountain on one table. There was a faint hint of a teasing smile around his lips.

Azrael shook his head, taking a pencil. "It will keep me entertained at least, if today was any indication. What did you find?"

"It's mostly flat with low hills." War looked as the angel started drawing. "Around 20 miles North of that one caved mountain Strife found yesterday there starts a zig-zagging ravine, which opens to a lower plain 2 or 3 miles in. A more or less round lake is in there." He briefly paused, watching with interest as the skilled hands drew a rough sketch of the area he was describing. He almost had to shake himself awake to continue. "In the East of that valley are caves... inhabited ones."

"Is that why you were so tired?" Azrael briefly looked up, before keeping on drawing. Was it War's imagination or was the angel smiling lightly at him?

"It was a whole pack of manticores." The youngest Rider defended himself. "They surprised me." He shifted his arm, a frown appearing on his face when he realized he had trouble to move it smoothly. "One bit my arm..." He looked at it more closely and was surprised to see that teeth of the damn thing had actually gotten stuck in the golem-limb. "They only stopped after I and Ruin turned around. Didn't want to kill all of them."

Azrael watched as the Red Rider considered his limb, getting up to get a look at it himself. He blinked when seeing the teeth, hesitantly reaching to remove them from in between the plates with his own slender fingers.

Taken aback at Azrael starting to pry the teeth out, War fell silent. "Ruin was beyond frustrated." He stated in an attempt to break the silence between them, distracting himself from staring at the intent face of the angel.

"A steed reflects the rider." Azrael mused softly, dropping the teeth he had pulled free on the table. "Particularly the steeds of the Horsemen, I daresay." An amusing thought came to him. "Would he like my cooking as much as you?"

War had the decency to rub his head a bit awkwardly at the memory of how he had acted when tasting the dish for the first time. "It was the first time I got something like that..."

"I daresay." Azrael smiled lightly at him. "I think that was the last of them."

War flexed the hand, studying the movements. "Yes, I think so too. Thank you for removing them."

"I am yours to command, after all." The angel bowed lightly and War could not tell if he was mocking the arrangement or something else.

"It's not like that." The Nephilim countered. "You are not my servant. And you certainly don't need to do anything you do not want here."

"It would keep me busy though." Azrael pointed out, walking over to the table again to look at the map he had created. "I... I don't do so well with 'idle' anymore."

War said nothing, merely tilting his head lightly in question.

"A hundred years, War." The Gatekeeper sighed. "For a century I was trapped in that one room in the Black Throne, while the only thing I could do was hate. Myself for allowing Abaddon to involve me in his mad scheme, Abaddon for Falling..." His voice trailed off as he shook his head lightly, turning to hide himself behind his own wings. "Too much time to think and nothing to distract me."

Worry briefly flitted through War's gaze. He reached out, turning the angel to look at him. Guilt and pain were clearly visible on the scribe's face.

"You should have said something." He whispered, feeling almost guilty for reminding the other of this. Considering how happy the angel had looked when they had enjoyed his food, this expression seemed so... wrong now.

"You don't need to bother on my accord, War." Azrael pulled himself free, eyes turning to the map again. "I will find things to do and even if I don't..."

"Nonsense." War took his chin, turning the face to look at him again. "You are my ward, Azrael. It would reflect ill on me if I let you slip into depression. I'll see if we can find you some more duties around here."

"You don't..." The slender male tried to speak again, only to find a warm and firm finger planted on his lips. The face of the Nephilim opposite him stated that there would be no argument about this.

"I'll see how far my siblings are with the dishes." War let go, turning to the door. "I'll send them up when they are done. And afterwards we'll see about something to do for you."

Azrael blinked a few times, taking a couple moments to truly register what the other had said. By the time he had regained enough control to whisper a faint 'thank you', the Rider was already gone.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The next few weeks were certainly interesting. It seemed as if the Riders were trying to see exactly how far Azrael's culinary skills went, while Azrael himself was more than certain that _this _was certainly among the last of things he'd have expected.

It came to a head when Fury returned with... something dragging behind her and her steed. Upon the Archangel's demand as to what he was supposed to do with a creature the size of a substantial whale Death dryly suggested skinning and gutting.

In the end the platinum-haired male used the skeleton to make a gazebo in the courtyard, increased the freezer-size to accommodate entirely too much meat and started making lunches for the Horsemen to take out to get through it faster. Their faces upon realizing that last one were so worth it.

Despite War's promise to get him more to do, he still found himself occasionally with nothing to do. Until Strife stumbled upon what appeared to be a series of tablets of the former people of the planet they were on, making Death request that the angel translate them.

It was as he took a break on one of them – it seemed to be a list of former rulers – that he heard commotion beneath his window. Curious, he looked outside. Only to promptly flush a surprising shade of scarlet when seeing War and Death wrestling half-naked. He had of course seen them spar before, but that had been with weapons... not like _that_. He lightly bit his lip, leaning forward a bit to see better in spite of himself.

Suddenly feeling eyes on him, he blanched when spotting the third brother leaning idly against the side of the building. Strife's yellow eyes fastened on Azrael's ivory ones as the angel hurriedly disappeared into the room again.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Come now..." Strife purred, leaning one arm beside the head of the angel he had pinned to the wall. "How long was it since you last had a lay?" He rested his forehead against Azrael's, ignoring the hands intend on keeping him back. "A century at least, I daresay."

"That is none of your business." The scholar countered, still trying to push the Horseman away. "Please move aside."

"Really?" The Gunner nipped teasingly at the olive jaw-line, adding in a conspiratorially whisper. "I don't think you are entirely as frigid as they say you are. Considering how you looked at my sibling just a few days ago..."

The angel's face flushed, hands briefly stopping with his attempt at getting out of there. "I do not know what you mean."

"I think you do." The taller male used the chance to move forward, pressing his chest against the robed one of the mystic. One of his hands fell to the angel's hip while he used his other hand to push the head back. "My, don't you look endearing like that..." His breath trailed over the half-open lips of the angel. For a few moments it seemed the middle brother would actually kiss their ward, only to be nearly catapulted down the hallway.

"War..." Strife rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders. "Really? Azrael can damn well take care of himself."

"He was certainly not willing to engage with you." War had thrown his elder brother away from the angel, now standing half in front of their guest.

"Then he ought to have said so." The Gunner sneered, turning to walk down the corridor. He had better things to do than get in a fist-fight with his brother. "I thought you were his warden, not his babysitter. Or perhaps you were not willing to see him with someone." Strife stopped at the corner. "Azrael, you know where to find me."


	6. Chapter 6

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

**Rating:** **M**

**Couples:** **Azrael/War**

**Warnings:** **AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg**

**Chapter:**** 6**

**Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me and Food-for-mind**

**Author's Note:**** Gonna keep the Poll until Bird of Paradise is finished.**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Why he agreed to this, War would never quite get. It was a couple weeks after that incident in the corridor and unlike Fury he had found no excuse to say no to Strife's idea of a drinking-evening. Sighing, he headed towards the living-room. At least Death and Azrael would be there... Mentally bracing himself for Strife's many lewd jokes, he entered the room.

Death was already comfortably sitting in one of the armchairs, taking a swig from his beer. "This is quite a good quality, brother. Where did you found it?"

"Vulgrim." Strife shrugged with one arm around the angel beside him. "Are you sure you do not wish some, Azrael?" He held up his pint of beer.

"Quite certain." It was very obvious that the angel was less than comfortable in this situation, almost clinging to his glass of wine. Despite that, he made no move to shake the arm of the Horseman off.

"As you wish." Strife turned to his entering brother. "I got you some as well, War!" He pointed at a massive pint, thick foam on top.

War dropped like a lug on a chair and grabbed the pint. The moment he took a large gulp, he nearly coughed out the drink again. It burned like wildfire down his throat, though he had to admit that the taste was very pleasant after the burn died down. A bit more careful, he took another drink. "It must have cost you a lot of souls."

"You'd think that, but no." Strife grinned, briefly squeezing the angel beside him as he took another chug of his own drink. "He just had me go get him several living demons. He needed them for something." He shrugged, looking at Azrael. "Are you sure you don't want any?"

"Just as I said last time, I am sure." Azrael had barely touched the wine the Horseman had given him. "The wine is quite good..."

War pointed at Strife. "Brother, you are making him uncomfortable. Maybe if you stop hanging on him..."

"I agree with War. Stop harassing the poor angel. I'm sure he is not used to a couple rowdy Horsemen surround him." Death agreed with the youngest Horseman.

Strife rolled his eyes – not that that was visible or anything – and frowned a bit. "Fine... Azrael, take a nice long chug, and I'll leave you alone." He held up his own pint of beer to the angel, who blinked in surprise at the move.

Hesitantly, Azrael took the wooden half-empty container, bringing it to his lips. If it got Strife of his back...

"Nice and long." Strife grinned at him, which somehow managed to widen when Azrael did just that. He unwrapped himself from the angel, scooting away obediently.

War and Death looked somewhat surprised at Strife's obedience, but War was a bit more interested in the drink and Death figured the angel could deal with Strife should the need arise.

Strife smirked at the angel when he accepted his own drink back. Boy, was Azrael already being affected? He was darn certain that blush had not been there before the chug. Hehe...

To War's dismay, his pint was soon empty. He stared at it, debating if he would get another one or better slow down.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Want me to get you some more, brother?" Strife asked, getting up to get himself another refill. War had drunk several pints in rapid succession and a smile now graced his face, which was clearly visible to all since he removed his hood a while ago. Death seemed relatively sober, but he too had had several pints so that was probably just skill with the poker-face. Even Azrael was starting to be quite affected by the alcohol in the wine he was drinking.

Strife soon returned with a refilled pint of beer after an affirmative of the youngest Nephilim, handing it to his brother. He flopped down beside him, leaning against him. If one hadn't know better, one would have assumed they were the best of friends.

"Azrael looks stunning, no?" He whispered softly into the other's ear after a look in the angel's direction. "Perhaps you ought to get him some more wine."

The scholar took that moment to indeed drink the last bit of wine from his current glass, brushing some wayward strands of hair out of his blushing face. The outer-robe was hanging over the side of the couch, leaving the angel clad in a thin, half-open under-robe and a set of tight-fitting leggings.

Had he been less drunk, War would probably have wondered at Strife's behaviour, but now he just stared in child-like wonder at Azrael; the angel was indeed very stunning. He always thought the angel was quite handsome but now he really looked amazing. War carefully got up from his seat and walked to get more wine for the angel.

A last remnant of common sense reared its' head from under Death's intoxication. "We will be back in a moment." Dragging the middle brother in the hall, Death hissed something in annoyance at him, but neither the angel nor the youngest Horseman paid any attention to it.

Thanking War for the drink, Azrael immediately raised it to his lips to take another sip. The Red Rider sat down rather gracelessly beside him, rattling him and in his... inebriation the blood-red liquid in his goblet sloshed over the rim. Now trails of red were running down his chin and neck, fascinating the male beside him.

"Do you know how beautiful you look?" War whispered, staring at the trail of the wine going Azrael's neck with rapt attention. When the angel blinked with wide eyes at him and a blush formed on the high cheekbones, the Horseman decided that this was the epitome of temptation. Eyes still fixed on the neck of the angel, he wondered how it would taste. Bowing forward, he licked the wine-trail off.

The other gasped when War licked at his skin, wine-goblet falling onto the stone floor as his hands looked for hold on the couch. Mouth open, he could not stop a moan at the touch of the Horseman's tongue on his flesh. For so long he had wondered...

At hearing the startled moan, War gazed up at the angel. The blush gracing the cheeks had darkened, the wings were half-folded at his back and the robe bared the whole neck and chest. He reached toward the wings but just before he could touch them, he hesitated. "May I touch them? I always wondered how..."

Shivering at the look the Horseman was giving him, Azrael found himself unable to answer – or indeed, think clearly – as he moved one of his wings closer to the out-stretched hand.

War stroked the pearly-white feathers, amazed at how soft they felt. The angelic runes glowed bright and completely mesmerised, he followed them his index finger. He smiled at the angel, making his usually harsh face much softer. "Thank you."

Azrael shuddered at the touch. When had it gotten so hot in here? Sweat-drops formed on his skin and almost automatically he reached for his garment to discard it fully. Why was War this close? Did he not feel the warmth?

When Azrael shrugged his robe of, War brushed the garment onto the ground. He caressed the olive skin newly revealed, leaning forward to start kissing the angel in the neck. The angel gasped, caressing his shoulders with trembling hands. Intoxicated with the taste, the Rider moved his lips up to the elegant face of the angel. Capturing Azrael's in a kiss, he moaned lightly when the angel returned the gesture.

The normal hand of the Nephilim felt like fire on Azrael's body, caressing the silky skin with abandon. The angel shuddered, allowing his head to fall back. Immediately War's attention turned to the offered neck, sharp teeth teasing the taut skin.

Neither of them really noticed that Death and Strife still had not returned.


	7. Chapter 7

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

**Rating:** **M**

**Couples:** **Azrael/War**

**Warnings:** **AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg**

**Chapter:**** 7**

**Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me**

**Author's Note:**** Poll until end of Bird of Paradise**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I cannot do that." Strife stated once more. "They will notice, Azrael. You can't even move…"

"I know that." The angel countered, looking up at the Rider. "But War mustn't know what he did. _Please_."

The Gunner sighed lightly, but nodded in acceptance.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

War woke up with a headache of Hell, as if Straga bashed his head in. Groaning he cursed Strife for the alcohol. He'd never again touch it, that was for certain...

When someone knocked on his steel door, it sounded like Redemption-cannon-fire to War. "Stop knocking!" He immediately regretted screaming: his head felt even worse now. He buried his head in his pillows when the person knocking instead apparently _shot _the lock, smashing the door against the wall.

"Drink."

Blinded by pain, he clawed at sound of his most hated brother's voice. Opening his mouth to curse Strife into Oblivion, he nearly choked when the other threw some liquid in his open mouth.

Coughing violently, he stared murderous at his brother. "What do you want!?" His hangover was fading and he recognized the taste as the standard potion for hangovers Nephilim made.

"A fucking explanation." The elder brother snarled, gun still in his hand as he glowered down on War. "What were you thinking!?"

Eyes twitching, War snarled right back. "What are you talking about?" Quickly replacing his hangover was anger.

"You tell me." Strife pulled the blanket of the other. Despite still being furious at his brother, War instinctively looked down. He paled in horror.

"What did I do?" The Red Rider demanded, blood still visible on his member.

"Fucked Azreal." Strife threw the blanket back. "He is badly torn considering someone did not remember lubrication..."

For the first time in a truly long time, War felt only horror and disgust. He could not have done that... could he? Looking up at his brother, he could see the truth in the other's eyes: he had. "What have I done?"

"From what Azrael told me, the both of you got overeager." The Rider of the White Horse sat down on the bed.

"It's no excuse for what I have done, Strife. I'm no better than our deceased brethren." War felt thoroughly disgusted at himself. "How could I do that to him!?"

The punch hit with surprising force, but War just accepted it. He deserved it, by the Creator he deserved far worse than that measly punch to the face. Strife's voice was a dangerous growl when he spoke again. "Don't you DARE repeat that sentence again! You are plenty better than our brethren, by far. I have yet to catch you with a little kid in your bed and from what I recall you did not call the rest of us after you were done with Azrael so we could have our turn! So don't you bloody DARE say you are anything like them!"

The younger Nephilim's eyes had dimmed, looking dull as he clutched at the sheet covering him. "I forced myself on him..."

Snarling in frustration, Strife dragged him half-up. "You did not, you fool. Forcing implies him not wanting it and he did! Or do you fucking think he'd not _stop_ you!?"

War refused to look at him. "How is he?" So much blood...

"He won't be walking any time soon." His brother let go, letting him fall back to the bed. "You ought to go talk to him..." Walking over to the attached bathroom, he half-turned. "You Marked him."

A sick feeling rose in War at that. The Mark was a sign of the demon-heritage of the Nephilim: it was a claim on a person, a visible show of possession. He had Marked Azrael, claiming the angel as _his_... Bile rose in his throat: a Mark was made by biting the neck until blood was drawn. Rushing past Strife into the bathroom, he hung above the toilet and retched.

"Be at ease, brother." Holding back the long white hair, Strife patted his back. "It is not nearly as bad as you fear." Guiding his baby-brother to the bath, he cleaned the younger Nephilim.

Staring blankly ahead, War said nothing as he was being towelled and dressed. Only as they were walking through the fortress did he speak up. "Strife, can you promise me something?"

"Depends on what." The Gunner briefly glanced over his shoulder at the Red Rider behind him.

"If I do this again, kill me. Don't let Death resurrect me." War's eyes narrowed at the snort and non-reaction of the other. Before he could demand an answer, Strife stopped and gestured to a door. It was the door leading into the elder Nephilim's room.

Entering the rooms, he remained at the door leading into the bedroom. Azrael was resting in the bed, covered in soft and fluffy blankets. Seeing him, the angel made to rise, but soon had to collapse onto the bed with a hiss of pain. Had he ever even heard such a sound from the mystic?

"Azrael, I... I am so sorry..." The Rider moved forward, sinking through his knees a short distance from the bed. His eyes trailed over what was visible of the angel's body: Azrael seemed to wear a tunic of Strife which did not manage to cover the bandages holding a sizeable lump to his throat. The sharp smell of healing-herbs filled the room.

"There is nothing to be sorry for." Azrael whispered, reaching for the Nephilim. "You did not force me into anything, War." His face briefly crunched up in new pain when he had to use the arm of his wounded shoulder to reach out since he was resting on the unwounded one. "We are both equally to blame for this."

"But you are the one who was hurt..." Surprisingly gently, War took the reaching hand. It looked so small and frail between his own large original and – even larger – golem hands. "Not to mention I Marked you."

"I felt it." Azrael whispered. "Felt the connection form... But it feels off."

Of course _he _would have realized it. War had been suppressing it the moment Strife had told him. War looked at the angel, before looking at the ground. "It will fade within a month."

"War?" Azrael pulled at the hands holding his. "I wanted this." He couldn't help but smile a bit at the surprised look the Nephilim threw at him. "I don't know if you remember, but I am one of Heaven's finest mystics. I can teleport large numbers, hide entire realms... Do you truly think I would have been unable to stop you?"

"Azrael, a bond with a Nephilim is... very violent." Despite the strange emotion flitting through his body, War would not just accept it so quickly. "It is very different from an angelic bond... If they can be compared at all."

"You think I do not know that?" Azrael's face darkened a bit. "I am the first Scholar of the White City, War. I know very well what a Nephilim-bond is and does."

"But why, why would you want to be bound to a Nephilim, to _me_? There is too much of a chance I will hurt you this bad again or even worse." Last night events clearly showed that.

"No, you won't." Azrael dragged himself closer to the bed's edge, ignoring the pain, managing to free his hand from War's to rest it against War's cheek. "It's not like we'd immediately marry." He chuckled lightly, a small smile once again gracing his features. "But perhaps... we can become more than friends?"

War gazed at the smiling angel, finding it hard to believe that Azrael was so willing to forgive him and also to be _more_ to him. Azrael let go, returning to a more comfortable position on the bed.

"I believe you're far too quick to forgive." The Nephilim whispered, hesitantly moving a hand to the one that had been at his face not a few moments ago.

"Let that be my decision, War." The Archangel's smile did not diminish. "What do you say?"

A silence stretched between them, even as War nodded his assent.


	8. Chapter 8

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

**Rating:** **M**

**Couples:** **Azrael/War**

**Warnings:** **AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg**

**Chapter:**** 8**

**Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

With a soft knock on the door, War went inside to check upon his ward. "How are you feeling?" The rider asked while walking to angel.

"Somewhat better." Azrael assured him. He was still confined to lying on his side, but at least he could move somewhat pain-free again. "How did the others react to... this?"

"Death gave me... quite of a tear-down." War admitted, suppressing a shiver at the memory. "Fury just pointed at Death and nodded with this really disapproving look on her face... And Strife sat there stone-faced. I was forced to make breakfast."

Azrael chuckled lightly. "I think I heard the lecture." He reached for War, gently adding. "So how are your cooking-skills?"

"It was alright, though leagues behind your skills." The Rider took Azrael's hand, "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Anything left of what you made?" The angel carefully hoisted himself a bit more upright. "I'd like to try that."

"Well, that would be bacon and eggs then. I'll go get you some." War carefully let go of Azrael's hand so he could head out to the kitchen.

After the Rider returned with the food, there was some silence between them as Azrael ate. "This is surprisingly good." The angel stated after he had finished. "Are you sure Death was the cook before I came along?"

War chuckled at that, "Death is the one with the most patience for it. I tend to do rush-jobs. This time however I took my time." Collecting the plate and setting it aside on Strife's dresser, War asked. "Anything else you need?"

"Not really at the moment." The angel reclined on his pillows again. "Do you think we can spend some time together?"

Sitting down on a chair near the bed, War nodded. "I am officially your nurse until you are better. My siblings went out to explore more."

Azrael chuckled again, hiding his smile behind a hand. The Horseman War... relegated to 'nurse'. "You don't mind, I hope?" He asked, looking up at the Red Rider.

War shook his head. "I don't mind: it's the least I could do. Especially after..." He made a gesture with his hand towards Azrael's middle, his face becoming serious again.

"It was not your fault, War." Azrael countered, face also growing more serious. "It was an accident..." He managed to take the hand, holding it firmly with his own.

With a sigh War held onto the Gatekeeper's hand gently. "Still, it shouldn't have happened. But let us let it rest for now."

Azrael smiled again, weakly this time. "So... when did you begin to feel attracted to me? I must admit I never noticed anything..." I might have acted on it, he considered adding, but in the end decided against it.

"The moment I saw you could stand your ground against Death." War admitted, chuckling at his admission. "It was proof that you were both steadfast and smart. So actually quite a while..."

Azrael laughed - actually laughed - at that. "Two characteristics I need in this family, I daresay." He hiccupped lightly. "So to get you to admit it, I should have beaten Death up?" He joked, still trembling in the aftermath of his laughter.

Laughing at the mental image and immensely enjoying the sight of the Archangel laughing, War answered. "Well, no need to go that far. And while we are on the subject: when did you feel attracted to me?"

A small blush appeared on Azrael's face at that. "Since the Battle of Eden..." He admitted, more than flustered at having carried the Horseman's torch for longer than Humanity had _existed_.

Blinking, War began to wonder how he had never noticed that. "Since that battle?" War had not even talked to Azrael then... Especially when he noticed the angel barely looking at him. He had always assumed the scholar was not comfortable being around the Nephilim then.

Azrael nodded weakly, looking away. He seemed to study the fabric of the pillow with great interest, unable to look War in the eye. He swallowed lightly, his throat feeling beyond dry at the moment.

"So how did I catch your eye?" War had never seen the scholar this flustered... and embarrassed. Aside from the last few months, he had only ever seen him proud and steadfast.

"How you acted with your siblings afterwards." Azrael whispered. Unlike War, he had never really gotten opportunities to show his private side to anyone and he was therefore not exactly used to it.

"You mean when I comforted Death?" War enquired. He gave a light squeeze in Azrael's hand when he noticed that the angel had not looked up yet. Looking up, the angel seemed almost vulnerable when he shyly met War's enquiring eyes. He nodded oncebefore hiding his face behind a curtain of platinum hair again.

Tilting his head in thought, War used his other hand to lift up the scholar's chin. Once he could see Azrael's eyes, he wondered out loud. "Why are you so embarrassed by this?"

"I... I don't quite know..." Azrael admitted lightly. "Emotions don't always make sense, do they?" He wanted to reach up and touch the cool steel-hand holding his face, but thought better of it in the end.

"They don't." War admitted, deciding not to question Azrael any more about this. He could clearly see it made the Archangel very uncomfortable. He removed his hand from the chin, though he did not let go from the hand cradled in his own.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Two weeks later, when he had long regained the ability to move about, Azrael was working in the garden, coaxing a couple of fragile herbs to grow. From scholar and mystic to gardener and cook... The White City would have a heart-attack about this. He chuckled lightly, energies flowing outward to a little plant under his fingertips.

Finally getting the plant to do what he wanted it to do, Azrael rose to his feet while dusting himself off. Looking over the plants, he nodded to himself before heading into the kitchen again.

Azrael rolled his eyes lightly when realizing that he spend almost his entire time in a kitchen now. Peeking into the oven, he found that he did not mind nearly as much as one could expect. At least he was cooking for people that appreciated it. "Nearly done..."

Outside the fortress, War dismounting from his steed and unsummoned Ruin. Holding a package carefully, he headed inside to find Azrael. Hearing the angel mutter in the kitchen, War then decided to just give him the gift the Rider had bought earlier. He strode inside, smelling the delicious aromas coming from the oven. "Still trying to enslave us with your cooking?"

Azrael looked up in surprise, smiling warmly at War. "Have I not succeeded yet?" He joked, walking over to greet the Rider with a chaste peck on the cheek. "How was your exploration?"

Suppressing a blush at the touch of the Archangel's silky lips on his cheek, War cleared his throat. "Eventful. Found a new valley with more 'plantlife'. Downside, they're meat-eating... again." Fiddling with the package, War began to wonder if he should give it to Azrael later on.

Azrael chuckled lightly, resting his hand on War's golem arm. "Poor dear... I have some food if you like?" He gestured to the table. "And what is that?" He noticed the package in the Rider's hand.

Taking a deep breath, War semi-thrust it at the angel. "A gift. For you." Using his hood to hide his face, he turned away lightly.

Azrael blinked in surprise, accepting the package slowly. Carefully pulling away the cloth protecting it from harm, he gasped lightly at seeing a book. The leather-binding was old, brittle. His eyes widened when seeing the title. It was ancient lore and by the looks of it, an original volume. "Thank you." He smiled at War, pressing another kiss - longer this time - to the Nephilim's cheek.

Feeling impossibly hot now, War muttered a 'no problem' and quickly headed back outside.

Azrael chuckled lightly again at the sight of the flustered Nephilim all but fleeing his presence. Deciding to give the Rider a bit of time, he followed about half an hour later with a plate of food.


	9. Chapter 9

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

**Rating:** **M**

**Couples:** **Azrael/War**

**Warnings:** **AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg**

**Chapter:**** 9**

**Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me and Food-for-mind**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

A week ago, the angel had decided they might as well move together, since even Strife was by now seeing them as a couple. Plus, his bedroom at the top of the tower afforded them far more privacy than War's among those of his siblings.

He thought back somewhat fondly to the reaction the Horseman had had upon that suggestion. For roughly two months they had been courting now and he had found that there were two sides to private War: one that was confident and proud – not unlike him on the battlefield – which was the most visible one, be they with his siblings or engaging in pleasure and then there was another, smaller part of the youngest Nephilim... Shy and vulnerable, it seemed that for plenty of experience in bed, War had never been in a proper relationship that did not boil down to 'friends with benefits' and just had no real clue as how to go about it. Though he had never reacted so strongly again as when he had giving Azrael the ancient tome, he always became plenty flustered every time he made the angel smile. And said angel might enjoy _making_ the Horseman flustered just a bit too much sometimes, which always made it a treat when War was the one to make the Gatekeeper lose his composure.

"War..." Azrael trembled, mouth half-open with laboured breaths. Looming over him, trapping the angel beneath his bulk, was War, grinning cheekily. Holding the angel's slender wrists with his golem-hand, the other was massaging the scholar's crotch, teasing the hard erection straining against the tight leggings.

"What did you expect wearing this?" The Rider chuckled, kissing the angel's cheek. Outside it was dark already and the room was only illuminated by several candles well out of reach.

"It's... Oh, Creator... It's what I always wear to bed..." The angel moaned, gasping when fingers started tugging at the dark-grey fabric.

"I am pretty certain they don't need to be that tight." Slipping his hand inside, War himself nearly moaned at the smooth skin he encountered. They had touched one another several times already – though they had yet to _sleep_ together after that disastrous first night – but he was still amazed at how soft and silky the other was. No wonder he had not taken his time to consider lubrication back then.

Feeling his lover pump his erection, Azrael threw his head back, moaning unashamedly at the pleasure coursing through him.

Only to whimper when War stopped, removing his hand. He had to look like a poor and lost puppy, by the way the Nephilim chuckled again at the expression on his face. Looking down, the ivory eyes widened as War freed his own throbbing desire.

For a moment, fear flitted through Azrael's mind at the memory of the pain of their first night together. It was replaced with even greater pleasure when he realized what War intended. Taking both their cocks, the Rider pumped them together.

Their moans filled the room, whispers of each other's names rising in frequency the closer they came. Azrael reached his peek first, arching against the Horseman above him as his hands clawed at empty air. War came soon after, the sight and sound of his beloved's orgasm more than he could take.

Panting as he came down from his high, Azrael barely found the strength and concentration to whisper a short spell to clean them up before slipping into sleep. The last thing he felt was War lifting him, shifting the long wings to one side of the bed to prevent injury.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Standing in the courtyard, War petted Ruin on his broad dark grey snout. Ruin looked up and snorted viciously when he spotted a newcomer approaching. Turning his head to follow Ruin's gaze, he smiled at the arrival. "Azrael."

"Hello." Azrael again had forsaken his robes for a set of tight-fitted pants and a tunic. Floating over to the two, he set down beside War. "I take it Death is giving you a day off?"

War snorted at the very idea. "Hardly, he wants to spar with all of us. Near the fort is a terrain which he deemed a good sparring-ground." War turned his gaze back to Ruin, so he wouldn't stare at the angel's tight-clad legs. "He wants us travel by foot. He believes we are becoming... soft, living together like this. "

"Oh dear." Azrael flew up a bit to be able to pat War on the shoulder. "I take it you would love some nice food afterwards?" He hesitantly reached for Ruin as he touched down again.

Ruin gave a loud snort, rearing his head up and away from the angel's hand. With comforting words, War succeeded in calming the fiery steed down. "Ruin doesn't like people touching him." Grinning lightly, the Rider added. "Seems he doesn't mind you too much though, since he didn't try to bite your hand off."

"Seems we'll get there at one point." Azrael dropped his hand. "Now what did you say about bribing him?" He jokingly asked, tilting his head to look from the horse to the Rider.

"You might with apples." War said in amusement, which caused the horse to trot a few metres away from the duo with a haughty snort and an angry whisk with his tail. "And now he is cross with me for spilling out his weakness." Wanting to say more War was interrupted by Death calling for him. With a huge sigh, War headed to the entrance. He called back at Azrael, "The food sounds like a great idea. Ruin, be nice!" A loud and moody whinny could be heard in answer.

Azrael chuckled as he watched the Horseman leave. Looking at the horse, he headed for the kitchen. "Feel free to let me know if you want apples." He told the flaming horse. He knew a nice recipe with those... and probably had everything he needed? "Keeping track of the food-reserves with those four is harder than the cataloguing system of the Argent Spire..." He shook his head in exasperation at the sheer amount the Four ate on a daily basis.

Still moody, Ruin walked around the area for a time, having been summoned in the courtyard meant he could not even go outside and run a bit. Suddenly, he raised his head sharply: he smelled something delicious, like apples. Remembering what the feathered male told him, the red horse trotted over to the kitchen window. He couldn't be too bad, right? Master liked him and he smelled decent. Curious, Ruin poked his head inside.

"Well, hello." Azrael chuckled at the flaming horse-head now in the window. "You are just on time." He took something from a plate on the table, walking over to the window to offer it to the horse. "Apples, and some extras."

First staring at the item on the man with suspicion, Ruin sniffed at it. Smelled... really good. Deciding to risk it, the red horse carefully removed the offering from the hand and then trotted a few paces away to eat it in peace.

Azrael leaned on the windowsill to watch how the Horseman's steed would react to it. Levitating the plate closer, he took a slice of baked apple for himself, chewing on it idly.

It was the best thing Ruin ever ate. Nearly swallowing the treat whole, the horse licked off his snout to catch every last bit. Turning back to the window, Ruin rushed towards the male and sniffed around for more treats. Nickering softly, as if he was asking for more of the tasty baked goods.

Azrael chuckled lightly, holding out the plate. "These are all I made for now, so pace yourself a bit." He gently patted the steed's nose. Like Rider, like horse, apparently. At this rate, he could well bend them all to his will just by cooking for them.

With a happy snort, Ruin began to devour the offered treats. Soon – too soon for Ruin – all the baked apples were gone. Saddened, the red horse licked the plate and when was he was sure that there was nothing else, he sniffed at the male to check if he maybe stashed more treats on himself.

"I am sorry, but that is all for now." Azrael chuckled again, patting the horse's neck carefully. "I ran out of apples, I am afraid." He almost giggled when feeling the hot breath against his chest when the massive steed of War searched for more treats on his person.

Disappointed that there were no more, Ruin let the male pat him on the neck. He gave nice pats. Maybe he would become Master's mate? Master liked him and he made tasty treats. Ruin then wondered if the feathered male was actually interested in his Master.

"So much for not wanting me to touch you..." Azrael mused lightly, carefully trailing his fingers through the shadowy mane of the horse. Ruin was surprisingly cool, considering all the fire he had. "Just like War, am I right? All tough and strong, but once in a while you just want to be pampered..."

His ears perked up when the angel mentioned his Master's name. With a soft neigh Ruin notched his nose against the male and afterwards looked at him intently.

"What?" Azrael was nearly bowled over at the force behind the horse's move. Truly like steed, like rider. "Do I want to know why you are looking at me like that?" He tilted his head questioningly, wondering at the intent stare in those glowing eyes. "How much did War tell you, I wonder..."

Deciding to get know more about the treat-giver, he began to sniff him. He smelled not decent, but good. His scent was fresh, like a clear sky after a rainy day yet some manly musk and a hint of apples.

Azrael chuckled, patting the horse again. "Still looking for apples?"

Raising his head, Ruin stared at the entrance. With a loud whiney, the horse dashed away. Master had returned. War returned from the sparring with his other siblings. He was bone-tired, moody and hungry.

"Oh dear..." Azrael chuckled upon seeing the Horsemen, gesturing towards the kitchen. "I have food waiting for you."

Strife, Death and Fury passed him by without a word, more or less collapsing on the chairs. War however, lingered behind wanting to greet his horse. Ruin sniffed at him, making soft nickering sounds. The Red Rider patted him. "Did you behave?" The red horse notched against his rider. "I see."

"He ran out of apples though." Azrael patted the horse on his neck. "He was heart-broken."

"I'm not surprised, " War chuckled, watching how the Archangel patted Ruin. "Seems you succeeded in bribing him through his stomach." Ruin snorted hard.

"It seems I did." Azreal smiled at the horse. "Now, I daresay you better hurry before there is nothing left for me to bribe you through your stomach with." He gestured to the kitchen with his head.

Realising that Azrael was right, War temporally forgot his weariness and hurried inside, knowing that his siblings were capable of eating everything... Without leaving him anything.

Ruin huffed out and pressed his nose against the angel. His Master could be so single minded.

Azrael snorted lightly. "I do remember you being very focused on your apples." He reminded the horse, patting the stallion once more as the sound of War's indignation could be heard. There was some arguing, but after a short while the sound of eating filled the house again. "Nephilim..."


	10. Chapter 10

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

**Rating:** **M**

**Couples:** **Azrael/War**

**Warnings:** **AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg**

**Chapter:**** 10**

**Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me and Food-for-mind**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It reminded him of the furs angels used to dress their children in... "It's so soft." Caressing it gently, he had to fight the urge to wrap himself in it. "Where did you find this?"

"It's from one of the creatures here." War shyly stated, sitting down beside the angel. "I thought you might like it... So I skinned and cleaned it."

"That does explain the hole here." Azrael chuckled lightly, reaching over to press a kiss on War's cheek. "Thank you." A small grin formed around his lips at the light blush on the Horseman's cheeks.

Considering the skin for a few moments, the mystic lifted his voice, weaving his magics around the soft fur.

After a bare minute, he held a rich cloak draped over his arm.

"Well?" Slipping it on, he looked at War, only to stop in his tracks at the look in the other's eyes. The Nephilim looked like he could not believe his eyes. "War?"

In answer, War's hand settled against his cheek, caressing the platinum strands of hair. "You are a treasure of Heaven, Azrael..." Closing the distance between them, he carefully caressed the soft fur covering the angel's body. "So beautiful..."

"I doubt it." The mystic countered a bit forlornly. "I'm no warrior. And surely those are as preferable for Nephilim as they are for angels."

"But it's because you are no warrior that you are so beautiful." The bulkier male whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to those silky lips. "Your body is flawless."

Azrael would probably have objected to that, but the Horseman's lips did not give him any chance to do so.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I am just surprised that I am his first relationship…" Azrael muttered, briefly looking at Fury as he looked into the oven again. "I mean, he is millennia old!"

"He had relationships." She countered, sipping on the tea he had made her.

"No, he had… friends with benefits." The angel pointed at her with the metal poker he had used on the fire just a moment ago. "I am his first romantic-relationship. Why? I could understand him being unattached after becoming a Horseman, but what about before? Surely his angelic looks are not that bad by Nephilim-standards?"

"Because you are the first that got close enough to him." The female sighed lightly, getting up to walk over to the angel. "All others that expressed interest in him… well, they never made it."

"What…?" Tilting his head, he tried to read anything in her expression. "How do you mean that?"

"Let's say…" Did the Nephilim actually look awkward at that? "They might have been thinking about the wrong things and got some elder siblings on their roofs. Suddenly they were uninterested."

Blinking, he wondered if she was joking around. She seemed serious. "So… should I be worried?" He was very certain that they had not yet done that with him. And equally certain he'd prefer if they never did.

"Nah, you are okay." Fury grinned, wrapping her arm around him. "Plus, we'd be too late now, wouldn't we?"

A slight blush colored the angel's cheeks. "I… suppose so." He smiled weakly. "So I do not need to fear Death's scythes suddenly lodged in my back?"

"Only if you hurt War." His 'sister-in-law' grew serious. "But then he'd need to get to you first."

"Duly noted." Azrael nodded lightly. "I certainly have no intention of hurting him though."

"Just warning you." She let go, returning to take another sip of her tea.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Caressing the coal-black skin, Azrael sat in the pavilion he had made. Flowers were winding their way up the ribs, forming a leafy canopy above his head. Resting in front of him was Ruin, resting his head in the angel's lap. His fires had died to the bare minimum, the fiery horse half-asleep under the mystic's ministrations.

"You seem to be able to enchant everyone without even trying." A dry voice came from the entrance. Death seemed to hesitate briefly before joining the angel on the assortment of pillows littering the ground.

"I can assure you that anyone who could cook would have." The angel countered with a light tone, trailing his fingers through the shadowy mane.

"I doubt they'd have cooked their way into War's bed." The Firstborn pointed out, face stoic as he regarded the proud steed of his fellow Horseman.

"It's my bed." Azrael corrected him, watching as Dust flew in and settled on the Nephilim's shoulder. "Please tell me you did not come looking for me to give me your big-brother-threats."

"Do you expect me to?" The Pale Rider looked in annoyance at the bird on his shoulder when the crow nudged his face.

"Well, you did destroy the Nephilim for his sake." Azrael briefly rested his hand on the scar on Death's chest. "Then again, according to Fury it is a miracle I got this far anyway."

An eyebrow rose behind the bone mask at that, looking with something akin to disbelief at the hand on his chest. Most people shied away from touching the eldest Horseman, but Azrael had always been different. Which was probably why he was in a relationship with War now…

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The first of the Horsemen he had joined, the second had somehow come to this point, the third had come for him… and the fourth he was currently searching for.

"Strife." Azrael finally found the one he was searching for. The other three Horsemen had ridden out, while the Gunner could afford to stay a while yet.

Looking up, the Nephilim briefly regarded the approaching angel before snorting lightly. "What?"

"Can we talk?" Floating closer, he seemed like a cloud: wearing the white fur-cloak only his face and the runes on his wings gave any color to his form.

"Just don't expect me to actually answer." War's elder brother turned to the Archangel, not even bothering to take of his mask.

Briefly, ever so briefly the mystic's jaw tightened. "Can we not act like civilized people?"

"I am a Nephilim, Azrael. We don't do 'civilized' if you remember. What do you want?" Strife sneered, crossing his arms when the other touched down on solid ground.


	11. Chapter 11

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

**Rating:** **M**

**Couples:** **Azrael/War**

**Warnings:** **AU, Yaoi, Debatable-Con (once), Lemon, Mpreg**

**Chapter:**** 11**

**Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me and Food-for-mind**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Taking a deep breath, Azrael moved closer. "You don't make any sense to me, Strife."

"Should I?" The Nephilim countered, turning away to look at Regret a short distance from the two.

"You are War's brother and yet…" The angel also looked at the Rider's horse. Ironically, he was the only one who had a _mare_. "It seems to me we got along better when I was not being courted by him."

"Or I just don't like you." The other male suggested.

"That does not compute with how you acted." Taking the steel-clad shoulder, Azrael turned him around. "You set me up with him, after all. Why do that when you do not care?" Getting no answer, he continued. "Or are you telling me that it was chance that you came into the room when he… started?"

"You were not exactly silent, Azrael." The White Rider shook the hand of his shoulder, shrugging lightly. "I just happened to hear."

"And what about the fact that you planned that entire 'drinking-evening' for me and War to start acting on our desires?" The scholar's voice slowly dissolved into a snarl. "You had all the time in the world to do it, but just so happened to 'get the idea' after figuring out I and War are interested in one another? I am the wisest angel in Heaven, Strife, try to sell that 'do not care'-nonsense to someone else."

Neither spoke for a while, clouds passing overhead.

"Why?" Azrael demanded.

"Why what?" Strife's voice sounded tired.

"Don't start this." The Archangel muttered. "Why would you act like this if you care enough to set up War with me? From what I gathered, Death and Fury would have killed me for showing interest in him."

The Nephilim sighed, reaching up for his helmet. "Not all of these are worn on the outside." He lifted the steel helmet, gesturing to the mask-part of it. "But why do you care?"

"You are - sort of - my brother-in-law." The angel reached for the mask. "Why do you wear it then? Would it not be better if you were honest with them?"

"I have been wearing it for millennia… no, eons." The taller made put the helmet on again as he whistled for his steed. "What makes you think they'd recognize me if I stopped wearing it?" Mounting the ethereal horse, he tapped the steel on his head a few times. "What makes you think I took it willingly?"

Before Azrael could answer, the Nephilim rode off.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

For the next week, Azrael pondered over the words of Strife. Once upon a time, he would have deemed the middle brother as fittingly named as the other two, but now he was not so certain anymore.

Subtle questioning seemed to confirm his first suspicion that the White Rider cared far more for his siblings than he let on. Which of course raised the question as to why he hid that.

"Let it rest, Azrael." Strife had failed to evade Azrael that day, having been proverbially cornered in the small library of the building. "Why do you care how I act?"

"Aside from the fact that I will spend three centuries around you and am being courted by your brother?" Azrael countered dryly. "Curiosity."

The Nephilim sighed in defeat, getting up from where he had been sitting at a low table. "Fine… I'll tell you, but not here. I do not want them to overhear."

"Why are you so adamant about them not knowing?" Watching the Horseman walk to the door leading into the garden, Azrael followed him.

"You'll see."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Really War, it is fine." The argument had been going strong for nearly an hour now. Strife wanted – or needed, as he claimed – the mystic to come along with him that day on account of needed to chart an island and not wanting to swim there. War on the other hand, was more than opposed to entrusting his lover to his hated brother. Azrael did not mind coming along, but was having a hell of time convincing War of that. "Even if he suddenly decided to risk your ire by abandoning me or something like that, I am more than capable of getting myself out of trouble."

Considering the angel could bet his wings that this was mostly a ploy to get away from the other Horsemen so they could talk, he was not going to let War's protectiveness stop him.

"War." Death finally spoke up. "We are wasting time arguing. Azrael will go with Strife."

Throwing one last, murderous look at his brother War turned around and stomped off to Ruin. Strife merely rolled his eyes in answer, mounting Regret.

"You want to sit behind me or fly?" He asked the angel as the Red Rider disappeared in the distance.

"I'll fly." Azrael assured him, taking to the air as the steel-clad Rider also moved out. The two white forms passed through the lands quickly, reaching the golden beach shortly after noon. Neither had made the move to talk during that and even as the Archangel formed a bridge of un-melting ice for the Rider to cross they did not speak.

"Well?" Watching his bridge being demolished by the waves, Azrael finally broke the silence. "Why do you act as you do?"

"Why did the Horsemen do anything?" Strife countered, adjusting his helmet as he walked into the interior of the island. "The Charred Council…"

Following him, the scholar said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"You play chess?" The Gunner mused. "Sometimes one must sacrifice a piece to win, yes?"

"Are you implying _you_ are that piece?" Azrael demanded, looking in disbelief at the Nephilim a short distance ahead of him.

"Yes." Without nodding or even looking back the other moved on. "I was never the… nicest to be around. I liked irritating people. When we… when we bound ourselves to the Council..." He sighed, stopping to finally turn around. "They knew that at some point there might be a time where they would have to send one of us on a suicide-mission. But they did not want the other three to be compromised should that day come." He took his helmet off, leaning against one of the trees rising into the sky. "Since I was already needling everyone, they told me to up the ante… That I would be that suicide-sender… I agreed."

"You… agreed." The angel echoed, touching down upon the moss-covered forest-floor. "Just like that?"

"It would keep my siblings secure." Strife looked up. "That was eons ago, Azrael. How can I expect them to believe me if I were to act as I want? I have become the mask I choose to wear."

"Not fully." The white-haired male offered hesitantly. "You are still you underneath."

"And what use is that when I cannot take off the mask?" His voice returned to his customary sneer, sharp teeth bare to the angel.

"You can…" Azrael offered his hand. "I'd be honored if you did with me."


End file.
